


did we want way too much

by owlvsdove



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, F/M, First Kiss, Implied/Referenced Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 22:53:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10397976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlvsdove/pseuds/owlvsdove
Summary: She’s been begging him, in big and small ways, to come to her with this.





	

**Author's Note:**

> lmao i came up with this AU when i couldn't fall asleep a few nights ago bc who doesn't love this kind of self-indulgent upsetting bullshit
> 
> there will probably be more of this we all know who i am

 

She’s home alone—he must’ve known that, because she’s always home alone. Jemma gets the feeling that he wouldn’t have set foot past the front walk if he’d seen her parents’ cars in the driveway. 

Thomas looks scared, but he’s keeping quiet. Mouth pulled tight like he wants to let out a big, big sound but knows something terrible could happen if he does. Rose is partly oblivious—as soon as they turned up the walk to Jemma’s house she started to get excited that she was going to see her friend. That’s what clued Jemma in to their presence; her high, babbling voice cutting through the dark, still quiet. 

And Grant.

Grant has a deep bruise yellowing and purpling around his eye. A cut bleeding on his temple. 

The door’s already been flung open, they’ve already seen each other, they’ve already met eyes. There’s no hiding from this—although she doesn’t want to. She’s been begging him, in big and small ways, to come to her with this. 

This is the first time he’s actually done it. 

Rose is pulling hard against his hand, with all the tenacity a girl of four can manage; but Grant won’t let her go, won’t let her pass the threshold until Jemma says something. Still expecting her to push him back like it’s all too much. 

Jemma bends down in the doorway to open her arms to Rose, and Grant lets go of her hand, letting the little girl catapult herself into Jemma’s arms. 

Rosie’s talking—not about whatever happened in the Ward house that sent them there, thank goodness. Something about pre-school that day, and a mile a minute. Jemma hefts her up, making approving sounds because she can’t listen yet. She reaches out to put an arm around Thomas and guides them inside. Grant will follow. 

They move straight past the living room into the kitchen. “Sit nice for me, Rosie,” Jemma says, setting her down on the cool marble island. Rose takes that as the challenge that it is, even though they all know in about thirty seconds she’ll need to move around. Thomas stands guard beside the ledge in case she gets antsy. 

But Jemma still moves quickly. Slips under the kitchen sink to find the first aid kit, which up until now has been used only for when Father cuts himself on a kitchen knife. 

Grant did follow, hovering again on the periphery. Pure opposite to Jemma’s fluttering movements. When she realizes he’s stopped, she moves to hustle him towards the island, pushing on his shoulders until he silently agrees to sit down on the stool there. 

Jemma hops up on the other side of Rose, straight onto the cool marble and flips open the lid of the kit. 

“What’s that stuff?” Rose asks. 

“It’s to help Grant,” Thomas tells her. 

“I want to help!”

“Okay,” Jemma says. She puts the kit in Rose’s lap. “Hold this still for me, okay?”

“Okay!”

Jemma grabs out one of the alcohol wipes out of the box and tears it open. 

“What does that do?” Thomas says, anxious. 

“It cleans his cut,” Jemma says patiently. She presses it gently to gash on his forehead, trying to hide the shake in her fingers that gives away that she doesn’t know what she’s doing. 

Grant hisses, just barely, at the sting, and Thomas gets upset. “Why is it hurting him?” But Grant puts a hand gently to his chest, holding him back as he tries to surge forward and get closer to him. 

“The wipe is soaked in chemicals that help clean out the germs,” Jemma explains. Her voice comes out a little shakier than she intended. “It just stings a little bit because it has to kill the germs that are trying to get into Grant’s cut. Isn’t that right, Grant?”

Begging him to speak. Begging him to come back out from where he’s been forced to hide. 

“Barely hurts.”

Rose is getting distracted from the lack of attention, mind wandering. She turns to try and climb over to the sink and flip it on, tipping the first aid kit. Thomas catches it and stops her, all while Jemma returns to sweeping the wipe over his cut, cleaning the blood from his skin. 

Jemma tries to tune out the chatter Thomas is occupying Rose with. Partly because she’s terrified of messing Grant up and partly because it breaks her heart. Thomas is ten years old. Unequivocally a child. And yet here he is, in a neighbor’s house in the middle of the night, trying to keep his baby sister happy so she doesn’t catch on that something dark has happened. 

Grant’s eyes haven’t left her face. She tries very hard to focus. 

Jemma reaches around Rose to get the first aid kit, but that pulls Rose’s focus back to the two of them. “Jemma? Jemma?”

“Yes, Rosie?”

“Can we play?”

“If Grant says it’s okay.”

“Grant? Grant!”

He sighs. “Yes, Rosie?”

Jemma finally finds the butterfly bandages. She shifts forward onto the edge of the counter and instinctively Grant moves in closer. Thoroughly between the V of her thighs. 

What a ridiculous thing to be thinking about right now. 

Presumably by now Rose has repeated her question. And Grant is telling her...something. 

It sounds like Rose is protesting. Jemma takes hold of his head, makes him very still. He’s still talking to Rose. Two butterfly bandages on his cut. 

Rose has started to cry—she must be so tired. “Come now, Rose,” Jemma says, scattering the papers from the bandages to pick the little girl up and settle her into her lap. “Be kind to your brother.” The crying starts to soothe before it ever really ached, hot tears lingering past shuddering breaths. 

“Thomas?” Jemma says. “Can you look in the freezer and see if there’s anything we can put on a bruise?”

“Mmhmm.” Thomas peers inside the dark and frosty air. Then he frowns. “There’s not much in here.” He opens the door wide so that it’s visible to the whole room. 

That’s embarrassing. She can’t remember the last time Mum went to get groceries. 

“Um...okay. Well.” 

Thomas shuts the door and comes back to them. 

“How about you give Grant a hug and a kiss, hm?” Jemma suggests to both of them. “I’m sure that will make him feel better.”

There’s almost a smile on his lips. 

“Here, Rosie.” She hoists the little girl up and holds her out. “Do you want to give Grant a kiss?”

All former bedtime betrayal has been forgotten at the sight of her beloved brother. She reaches for him. 

“Gentle, Rose. Gentle,” Jemma reminds her. Rose has the tendency to headbutt nearly everyone she tries to kiss. Such is the force and depth of her love. 

Rose drops a clumsy but gentle kiss on Grant’s cheek, wraps her little arms around his neck, and promptly settles herself in to fall asleep on his shoulder. 

Quite without Jemma expecting him to, Thomas also steps forward to kiss Grant, on his uninjured side. 

And then the boy says, “Your turn, Jemma.”

Bless him. 

“Jemma already helped,” Grant says, before she can stutter anything out. “You didn’t even lift a finger.” Apparently he’s found his way back to humor. 

“I regret kissing you,” Thomas deadpans. And it’s the single most hilarious thing Jemma’s ever heard in her life. 

“Here,” Grant says. He shifts a drowsy Rose into Thomas’ waiting arms. He’s a strong boy but he still sags a bit under the dead weight. “Go lay her down in the other room.”

Thomas does as he’s told. And suddenly they’re alone in the dim light. The bottom half of his face is cast in shadow—she had been too preoccupied with his cut to notice. 

“Sorry,” she says suddenly. “I’m not very good with this stuff.” And she taps the top of the first aid kit box. 

“You were great.”

Jemma hates herself for blushing at that. 

“Although there is something else you could do…” He’s biting his fucking lip. “Just if you wanted to.” 

Oh, sweet Jesus. 

“What’s that?”

He turns the hurt side of his face to her, taps it lightly with his finger. 

She tries so hard not to take such a sharp intake of breath, such a hopeful one. And then she’s leaning down to just barely brush her lips against his cheekbone. And again.

And again.

The pit of her stomach is buzzing, she can’t make her face move away from his, and he’s turning just slightly, and then, and then—

A sharp wail pierces the air. 

“Gah! Grant!” Thomas’ voice follows. “What do I do?!”

Jemma looks back at him, smiling a bit—but God, he looks like he’s been struck all over again. For the first time all night, all of his thoughts are on his face. 

“Don’t freak out.”

He’s leaned so far away from her he’s barely on the stool still. “I’m not freaking out.”

So she leans forward, takes his chin firm in one hand, and plants a kiss on his lips. “Go,” she says. 

He’s dazed, sure. But he gets up and moves without looking back. Knowing she will follow. 

 


End file.
